


Dylan's Story (1)

by pallasite



Series: Behind the Gloves [39]
Category: Babylon 5, Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Backstory, Bigotry & Prejudice, Boarding School, Canon Compliant, Culture Shock, EarthDome, Fix-It, Gen, High School, Politics, Psi Cops, Psi Corps, School, Telepath culture, Worldbuilding, telepaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallasite/pseuds/pallasite
Summary: Dylan Valle wanted to be a politician - but then he developed telepathy, and telepaths are banned from holding office. He still longs for a life in politics - and he'll do anything to be the exception.The prologue ofBehind the Glovesishere- please read!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What is this series? Where are the acknowledgements, table of contents and universe timelines? See [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10184558/chapters/22620590).

2229\. New York City.

            In high school, Dylan Valle had been the star of the debate team, and had always dreamt of a life in politics, working to change policy to make the Earth Alliance a better place. He had dreamed of becoming an EA Senator himself someday, of making speeches and waving to the cheering crowds – maybe even running for Earth president. He would end poverty, he would create jobs, he would change the world.

            But then at seventeen, in the beginning of his senior year, he developed telepathy and within a week, was expelled. He was suddenly transplanted from his cozy hometown outside Buffalo to the campus of a Corps’ school in the heart of bustling New York City, where he would spend the next year as an Academy student.

            He was told he would be tracked for the Business Division. Dylan didn’t know exactly what telepaths did in this Business Division, other than work for companies and help keep negotiations honest.

            “But I don’t want to go into business, I want to go into politics,” he told the staff member at the Psi Corps office.

            “Sorry kid, telepaths can’t run for office. Laws forbid it.”

            “Then I want to work for the government. I want to do public policy in EarthDome, in Geneva.”

            “Sorry, kid. That’s just not possible.”

            Dreams crushed, he arrived at school. The campus felt foreign. Everyone at school spoke English, but he felt as if he’d been dropped into a faraway country. Students all wore identical gold and umber school uniforms, and black leather gloves. They never engaged in casual physical contact with one another when conversing – no hugs, no friendly punches on the arm.[1] They always maintained a certain distance while talking. There was certainly no kissing.

            Everyone treated the teachers with the utmost respect at all times, and the teachers never called him Dylan – he was always “Mr. Valle.”[2]

            In the dining halls, posters adorned the walls, showing smiling telepath teenagers of all ethnicities, modestly dressed, holding trays of food. “Healthy bodies, healthy minds” read one sign. “Ask your friends today: have you had three servings of vegetables?” read another.

            On his first visit to the dining hall, he took several slices of cake for dessert, putting it with the rest of his food onto the plastic tray.

            “You really shouldn’t take so much cake,” the student behind him in line said. She was a pretty girl with brown skin and almond eyes.

            “What?” he said, shocked, looking up. “There’s plenty more for everyone else-”

            “No no, I mean, it’s not healthy to eat so many sweets.”

            He looked at her with horror and a flash of anger. “Who the hell do you think you are, my mom?”

            She blinked in surprise. “The Corps is Mother and Father,” she said. “We’re all brothers and sisters to each other. I’m just looking out for you. You should have another helping of broccoli instead.”

            “Bug off!” he shouted. “What I eat isn’t any of your business!”

            Then he realized everyone was staring at him. Students at tables near the cafeteria line had even stopped eating. He could hear a proverbial pin drop.

_Later,_ they were saying, without saying anything at all.

_That must be him, the kid who just arrived today._

_Yeah, that’s him._

            He stomped off to the far side of the cafeteria to eat his meal alone, and enjoy his cake in peace.

 

[1] See _A Race Through Dark Places_ for one rogue telepath’s views on telepath culture, gloves and boundaries.

[2] Gregory Keyes, Deadly Relations, p. 40 onward. Once students enter the Minor Academy, teachers no longer refer to them by given names, but by Mr./Ms. [surname].


	2. Chapter 2

            With graduation came freedom – of a sort. The Corps leased him a modest but adequate apartment in the city for his use while in commercial training, and paid him a stipend for living expenses. Gone for good were the days of school uniforms, cafeterias and pledges.

            But even with his rent and utilities covered, Dylan still found city life hard to adjust to, especially as a telepath. People on the street sometimes crossed over, so as not to walk near him. Passengers on the train sneered and kept their distance. He was watched and followed in shops, stared at with suspicion and distrust. Restaurant staff seated him at the back, far away from other customers and from windows overlooking the street. One time in the restroom, someone started a row and would have assaulted him if Dylan hadn’t managed to escape in time.

            He heard rumors about telepaths being assaulted anywhere normals could get them alone and without means of escape[1] – and tried to avoid such situations. Slowly, any remaining hopes that graduation would bring a normal life faded in the city haze. His old friends no longer wanted anything to do with him, and he’d never made any real friends in his one year in the Psi Corps school.

Every morning, he rode the bus to the Psi Corps training center for his commercial training. So far they’d taught him very little about business and a lot of about keeping his mouth shut. One day at the bus stop, a small crowd stood, waving signs, cheering.

MAYOR CROW HAS GOT TO GO!

            Two protesters wove between the waiting passengers, chanting, handing out sheets of bright green paper.

STAND UP NEW YORK! FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHTS!

            A man approached the commuter standing next to Dylan.

            “Here ma’am, would you like a flyer?” He was a bright-eyed white man in his fifties, wearing a knit hat, and a thick winter coat covered in political buttons. “There’s a rally next Saturday! Stand up to corruption, greed and corporate elitism!”

            “I’m busy,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

            He turned to Dylan. “Would you like a flyer, sir?”

            Dylan recalled the rallies he’d attended in high school, moments that felt a lifetime away. For an instant in his grey, dull morning, there was a flash of hope – someone was inviting him to a political rally to stand up to corruption in city government! Someone had seen past the gloves and invited him back into the world of civic participation! Someone still recognized him as a citizen, psi insignia badge and all!

            “Yes, thank you,” Dylan said brightly, and reached out for the flyer.

            The man seemed to see him for the first time. “Oh! You’re a telepath!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, didn’t see the badge. My apologies.”

            “Wait, what?”

            “The Psi Corps Charter,” the man replied smoothly. “I always tell the new volunteers not to approach telepaths, and I do my best to explain political neutrality to them, but we all make mistakes. My apologies, sir, I hope you forgive me.”

            He turned to move on, but Dylan reached out to halt him. “Wait,” he said. “I’m new to the Corps. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I want to go to the rally.”

            “You’ll have to take that up with the Corps,” the man said, and moved off through the crowd, giving other people flyers instead.

            Angry, Dylan fished one of the bright green flyers out of a nearby trash can. Corps be damned, he was going.

*****

            Several thousand people gathered that Saturday in Central Park. Dylan took a free “Stop the Crow-nies!” poster from a rack, stuffed it under his arm, and wandered over the hear the speeches. News cameras hovered through the crowd, and mounted police stood in strategic locations, looking imposing and keeping the rally peaceful.

            _Finally_ , Dylan thought, _I’m back in my element at last._

            He ignored the uncomfortable glances from the normals around him, not caring what they thought, lost in the pulsing energy of the crowd. The speakers denounced the corruption in city government, and Dylan cheered right along with the rest of them. This was his city too, he thought. No one would stop him from joining the fight for fair governance.

            When he got home, he hung the poster up on the outside of his apartment door. Satisfied, he made himself dinner, watched television, and went to bed. The next morning he was awoken by a knock. Loud. Serious.

            Through his peephole, he saw a Psi Cop standing there, black uniform and all. He’d never seen one in person before, only pictures in vids and broadcasts.

            _That’s odd_ , he thought, and opened the door.

            “Dylan Valle?” she asked.

            He nodded. “Can I help you, officer?”

            She thumbed at the poster on his door. “What’s this?”

            “A poster from yesterday’s rally,” Dylan answered innocently. “The one against city corruption. It was on the news.”

            She looked him searchingly, sizing him up, then glanced left and right down the corridors before letting herself into his apartment and shutting the door behind her. “I realize you’re new to the Corps,” she said, “and sometimes laters do foolish things, but are you a complete idiot?”

            “Ma’am? I don’t follow. It’s just a poster.”

            “Article II of the Charter,” she replied, exasperated. “The Corps cannot involve itself in normal politics or endorse candidates for office.[2] You’ve read the Charter, haven’t you?”

            “Yes, but what does that have to do with me? That refers to the Corps itself-”

            “-And you’re a representative of the Corps. We all are, in each and every thing we say and do. You wear that badge every day. What do you think it means?”

            He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. “No. I’ll explain it to you. Normals wrote that Charter provision because they don’t want us in their politics. It scares the hell out of them – telepaths influencing votes, telepaths blackmailing political opponents, telepaths passing as normals and taking office, and on and on. So the rules are clear – we’re to stay out, all of us, and we stay completely out. Article II would be meaningless if the Corps as an institution couldn’t endorse a candidate, but individual telepaths were out campaigning anyway, formally or invisibly. You’re worried about corruption in government? You think that crowd was angry?” She laughed. “Well son, you’ve seen nothing at all until you’ve seen how scared they are of us in their government. Do you remember the riots in 2115? Did they teach you about that in school? You know how that happened, don’t you? Over in Chicago they blamed the corruption in city government on us, on telepaths. Hundreds died. They tracked us down, rounded us up and shot us.”

            A chill went through Dylan, as it suddenly occurred to him that the Psi Cop might have come to his home to arrest him. He stood speechless, terrified that anything he said would get him in more trouble.

            “That poster comes down right now,” she said. “And you stay away from rallies. Am I clear?”

            “Yes ma’am.”

            “I know all about you. I know you used to be an activist of sorts, or at least you wanted to be one. And so I’m here to tell you once and for all that your activist days are over. You are a representative of the Corps now, and with that comes sacrifices. You are no exception.”

            Dylan nodded, terrified, not wanting to anger the Psi Cop by talking back, but inwardly fumed at the injustice.

            “Yeah yeah, ‘it’s not fair,’ I’ve heard that all before, too. Fine, you can take it up with EarthGov. Call Geneva and whine away to them - they make the laws, not us. In the meantime, you will follow those laws. Don’t make me come back here. This is your one warning.”

            When she left, Dylan stood in the foyer of his apartment, shaking. Moments later he tore the poster off his door and ripped it to shreds.

            What had happened to him? To free speech? To his rights as a citizen of the EA?

            _You can take it up with EarthGov._

            _I’ll do just that_ , he swore to himself. _However long it takes, that’s exactly what I’ll do_.

 

[1] _The Corps is Mother the Corps is Father_

[2] _Revelations_


	3. Chapter 3

2237

            After almost eight long, miserable years in the Business Division, Dylan Valle finally got the call.

            “It’s a long shot,” the Psi Corps representative said, “but a position has just opened up in EarthDome.”

            Dylan’s eyes lit up.

            “Despite clear language in the Psi Corps charter that the Corps must always remain politically neutral,[1] there are occasional exceptions.”

            Dylan only wanted to know how to apply.

            “And the Corps can’t help you,” the woman added. “Who the senator decides to hire is her choice alone.”

            “Of course!”

 _At last_ , Dylan told himself. _I’m really going to do it._ He thought back to his brief run-in with the law eight years earlier, when he’d foolishly hung a political poster on his door, and got read the riot act by a Psi Cop. _I’ll show her who’s boss!_

            By the end of the week, Dylan sat at the desk of Senator Marianna Rosaki, Senator from the United States, a woman in her early to mid fifties with red-brown hair and dark eyes. Her office, the “inner sanctum” of Earth Alliance telepath policy, was spacious and lavishly decorated with dark woods and antique furniture, including several vases in the now-popular style of neo-Grecian revival.[2]

            Dylan could hardly believe his good fortune. Had his passion for politics shone through above that of all the other applicants? His hard work? His skills? Or had his name simply been pulled from a hat?

            Above the senator’s desk hung a portrait of Senator Lee Crawford, one of the key architects of Psi Corps and its first director. Dylan hated the portrait: its seamed, angular face[3] felt it was looking down on him and smirking through time, gloating about the “successes” of his 22nd century social experiment. Few telepaths actually believed the normals had had “benevolent intentions” when they’d created the Corps and its predecessor, even though that had always been the mandatory story taught in Psi Corps schools, thanks to Crawford and his ilk.[4] But the teachers had nonetheless taught him the truth - it was a lesson, Dylan had quickly learned, in how it was possible to say one thing with one’s lips, but yet, in juxtaposition with one’s thoughts, tell an entirely different story altogether – in this case, the truth.[5]

            “Mr. Valle, you are the committee’s first choice for the aide position,” the senator said, “subject to certain conditions.”

            There were always conditions.

            “As you know,” she continued, “I am the Chair of the Committee on Metasensory Abilities,[6] the committee that oversees and funds the Psi Corps. My committee has a long and distinguished history, going back to our origins as the Committee on Metasensory Regulation.”[7] She gestured to the portrait above her desk.

            Dylan nodded. He knew the history.

            “Of course, we no longer directly regulate the lives of telepaths; that’s Psi Corps’ jurisdiction. We still play a vital role in oversight, however.[8] Director Johnston was appointed by the Senate, and he reports to this committee, and to me, personally. We appropriate the budget.[9] There is no Psi Corps without us.”

            “Yes ma’am.”

            “This is a very important position, Mr. Valle. We need to know we can depend on you completely.”

            His initial elation at having been offered the job quickly shifted into concern as he sensed that not only did she not trust him - she despised him. She had picked him as a finalist out of hundreds of applicants, and yet she still despised him.

            He’d done nothing to get on her bad side. They’d never before met.

            Maybe this was her good side.

            “Rule number one,” she said, “is that you are never to pay attention to the thoughts of others unless you are explicitly asked to do so, by myself or someone working under my direction. You’ll be working with some very high level people, Mr. Valle, who know some very sensitive information. You are not to go ‘snooping around.’”

            “I would never-”

            “Of course you would never scan anyone,” she said, cutting him off, “we know that. We mean you must take the utmost care not to listen in on anyone’s thoughts unless explicitly asked to do so.”

            Dylan was taken aback. In the business world, paying attention had been a critical part of his job. “That might be a bit of a challenge,” he said, cautiously. “I mean, telepathy doesn’t have an on/off button. Even if I’m not trying to, I might accidentally-”

            “Dylan,” she said, talking down to him, her steady voice a thin veil for her hatred, “there are hundreds of other telepaths who would take this job in a heartbeat if you can’t – or won’t – comply with the basic expectations of the position. This is a plum job, you know. You’re very lucky even to be considered.”

            It was almost a threat. Dylan suddenly realized, from the senator’s surface thoughts, that the last telepath on her staff had been dismissed for knowing things he should not. Dylan buried his curiosity to ask more about the circumstances of his predecessor’s dismissal.

            “…I’ll try my best, ma’am,” he said.

            “Your best is not good enough, we need you to promise us, and we need that promise in writing.”

            She produced a piece of paper, asking him to promise not only to take extra precautions not to pick up on surface thoughts, but also to swear he would never reveal confidential information to the media, the public, friends, family, or to the Corps.

            “Do you suspect me of being a spy?” He shouldn’t have said it, but it was already out of his mouth.

            “Spy for whom?”

            “…For the Corps.”

            “Psi Corps is an agency of EarthGov, Dylan,”[10] the senator replied, coolly. “The Corps is not a sovereign government. Or do you believe it should be?”

            “Of course not, ma’am. That’s absurd.”

            Nonetheless, he pondered the loyalty oath lying on the Senator’s desk, awaiting his signature. He doubted any of the senator’s normal aides had been asked to sign such a document.

            “Senator, as you know, I wasn’t raised in the Corps. My parents are normals. I didn’t develop telepathy until I was seventeen-”

            “Mr. Valle, I don’t trust any telepath, it’s nothing personal against you. As much as I believe you are sincere – you would not be sitting here if I did not – I simply cannot ever trust you completely. Am I clear?”

            “Yes ma’am.”

            “It’s the job of this office to oversee telepath policy, not to get cozy with telepaths. So if, as you say, your telepathy does not have an ‘on/off button,’ it’s your responsibility to make sure that it does, or move aside and let someone more qualified take this job.”

            She was asking him to do the impossible. No telepaths had that kind of “control” – telepathy simply didn’t work like that. Even without intentionally scanning anyone, surface thoughts always came through from time to time, especially when accompanied by strong emotion.[11] He wondered how the senator could have so much power over telepaths, and yet know – or care – so little about them.

            He looked down at the loyalty oath, and for a moment he considered ripping it up and walking out the door. He wondered how many other applicants had done just that, before the senator had finally gotten down the list to him.

            But then he remembered why he had applied – he had always wanted a life in politics. The Corps had told him he’d never be able to reach his dream – the Psi Corps charter, and subsequent regulation, categorically banned it[12] – and yet here he was, an inch away, despite what his teachers had told him.

            Only the loyalty oath, ridiculous and insulting as it was, stood in his way. Maybe, he hoped, he could build the senator’s trust, over time. Maybe he could do some good for telepaths. This was his one chance to make a difference.

            He had a chance to be the exception. He picked up his pen.

            “Yes ma’am,” he said. “You can count on me.”

            The portrait high on the wall continued to smirk.

 

[1] The Psi Corps charter mandates political neutrality. See _Revelations_ (“Remember the big scandal about the Corps endorsing Vice President Clark?” “Sure, it was big news. Made all the nets. Their charter prohibits recommending candidates to their members.”)

[2] Deadly Relations, p. 212-213

[3] Dark Genesis, p. 78

[4] Deadly Relations, p. 10-11, Gregory Keyes, Final Reckoning, p. 246-247. It’s never specified why the Corps has this as the story taught to kids, but since it’s not a pro-telepath story, it’s not hard to infer that normals were behind it somehow.

[5] See Deadly Relations, p. 11 for an example of someone saying one thing aloud, while mentally saying something very different or even the opposite.

[6] This is the name of the Senate oversight committee as given in _The Well of Forever_ (Crusade). I am assuming that though the committee changed names after Psi Corps was established, it didn’t change names again after the Telepath War.

[7] Inference. I assume that the committee changed names with the establishment of the Corps in 2156, but didn’t change names again between then and the time of Crusade (even when the Corps was disbanded and replaced with other entities).

[8] Dark Genesis, p. 50, Final Reckoning, p. 240, 244 (Psi Corps “created and overseen by the EA Senate”)

[9] Inference, because the explanation given in Dark Genesis of how the MRA is funded (from business fees alone, with no tax revenue) makes no sense

[10] Gregory Keyes, Psi Corps Trilogy (all three books), especially Dark Genesis, p. 119 (e.g. “independently chartered MRA”). The word “agency” doesn’t appear in the text, but the description is of one. See also [JMSNews, 1/25/94](http://www.jmsnews.com/msg.aspx?id=1-19335). (The Corps is an agency of EarthGov)

[11] _Midnight on the Firing Line_ (even when blocking out casual thoughts, strong emotion can come through), _Mind War_ (strong emotion is hard to block), _Dust to Dust_ (strong emotion is hard to block, which can make it easier to scan someone), _Objects in Motion_

[12] Deadly Relations, p. 135 (ban on being politicians, specifically). Canon doesn’t explicitly list the legal basis for this prohibition (e.g. charter, statute, regulation, all of the above). _Revelations_ mentions the political neutrality clause in the Psi Corps charter.


End file.
